March 24, 1894.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



247 



unfattenable; Gyp, a short and stocky one, of much Che 

 converse description, since it seemed nothing could reduce 

 her solid flesh. Dick had them in a good roomy crate. 



"It's a good deal of a nuisance to take dogs along usu- 

 ally," said he, "and IVe often dreaded a trip over the 

 Western railroads, the baggagemen rob and bother you so 

 much ; but the Iron Mountain men treated me the nicest 

 I ever was treated when I had dogs along. Mr. Townsend, 

 the general passenger agent, saw that I got a permit for 

 the dogs, there was a man at the Union Depot to help me 

 with them from the Alton train on to the Iron Mountain 

 at St. Louis, and the baggageman coming down was so 

 nice about I just gave him a tip anyhow. These men 

 down in this country don't seem to act like the fellows 

 I've met in the West and North." Which latter reflection 

 my friend repeated many times before our journey ended. 



In short, we were now in another land, a land less harsh 

 in climate and in customs, a land where men have time 

 enough to live, and kindliness enough to want others to 

 live also. We were out of the snow, and among the 

 quail, and away from work, and what more could one 

 ask? As one reflected on all this one experienced a large, 

 generous, comfortable feeling in the cardiac region, a 

 glow of warmth extending quite about the neck (a North- 

 ern man usually feels cold to the touch under the ears), 

 and a buoyancy of step such as was ample repayment for 

 the trip, if it ended right there and had no further plans. 



Side Trips for Quail. 



We didn't take Dick right out after quail as soon as 

 breakfast was over, neither do I wish any to think that 

 we could find quail in the hotel yard. We explained to 

 him, as I would like to explain to others, that the birds 

 were not to be found right in the edge of town at Little 

 Rock, any more than at any other town of its size. The 

 negro shooters and other owners of cheap sporting gear 

 keep the crop cut down pretty close, out for a few miles, 

 say four or five miles, or walking distance— though I 

 imagine that even within that radius the shooting would 

 seem good to a Northerner. It is the custom of the Little 

 Rock shooters to drive out ten to fifteen miles, or else to 

 make a railroad trip to some point twenty to forty miles 

 distant. By taking the Ft. Smith road out for even short 

 distances one gets to little way stations in the heart of a 

 *purely rural country, and a widely scattered population, 

 where the great plantations are dotted only by occasional 

 negro cabins, and where the birds breed practically un- 

 disturbed by the residents from one end of the year to the 

 other. 



If one could get good accommodations in any of these 

 little villages it might do to stop there, although I do not 

 think the residents would look kindly on any party who 

 stayed for along time and killed a great many birds. The 

 best way to do, and a remarkably convenient way. is to 

 make Littte Rock the headquarters, where one can be ad- 

 mirably quartered and have at hand everything he needs, 

 ammunition, good quarters for his dogs, etc., and then 

 to use the railway trains instead of horse and wagon. 

 The trains leave very early in the morning, so that one is 

 landed on his shooting grounds earlier than if he had 

 gone the usual driving distance by team, and they come 

 in late in the evening, so that one can close his day's 

 shooting comfortably and take the train home as he would 

 his wagon, with the difference that the train is the more 

 comfortable. Or, if one objects to the early morning de- 

 parture, he can take an evening train out of the city and 

 drop off, say, at 8 to 10 o'clock in the evening at the small 

 town where he intends shooting, taking his chances on 

 getting hotel accommodations there for the night. There 

 are dozens of good shooting points thus available, the ac- 

 commodating quality of the railroad trains being depend- 

 ent on the fact that Little Rock is a central and import- 

 ant railroad point, and hence entitled to have its trains 

 arrive and depart in the morning and evening, as all good 

 big cities do. There might be some who would object to 

 this, and say that they "would rather be right on the 

 shooting grounds." A trip would teach them wisdom as 

 to that, unless they had invitations to stop with some of 

 the planters. That, however, is not the question. No 

 shooter who is in the least a gentlemanly shooter ought 

 to expect or to wish to go down into that country and 

 shoot every day in the week, for that would mean simply 

 a butchery of birds. In a country where fifty birds to 

 the gun daily is no herculean task no sportsman can wish 

 to shoot every day of the week, nor more than half the 

 days of the week. Therefore, this city oifers inducements 

 of the most remarkable sort. One can here be absolutely 

 sure of one or two "good days" — days when he sees hun- 

 dreds of birds, and bags dozens of them; he can also be 

 sure of comfort when he is not shooting.g 



Arkansas Vox Populi. 

 I have no use for a man who is not satisfied with one 

 or two actual "good days." If any man wants more than 

 one or two such days to the week, and if he wants to 

 shoot every day, and kill every bird he can every day, 

 then I certainly don't want him ever to go down into this 

 country; probably he'll wish he hadn't if he does. The 

 men of the State Association make the laws, so far as the 

 sportsmen are concerned. They say the law absolutely 

 prevents shipment of game out of the State, but does not 

 prohibit gentlemanly shooting by non-residents. Any 

 shooting of ungentlemanly sort would very soon have 

 visited upon it a practical stigma from the source to 

 which all laws ultimately revert. Don't run against any 

 of the Arkansas vox populi. Be a gentleman in your 

 shooting there. Indeed, you have my permission and ad- 

 vice to be a gentleman no matter where you may be shoot 

 ing. If you are a gentleman, you can't beat Little Rock 

 country very badly for game, not in America, and not 

 to-day. Thus, at Plummerville, one of the little way- 

 stations referred to, one Little Rock shooter bagged 52 

 birds to his own gun in a little over half a day, the week 

 before my visit. Two gims had bagged over 150 there. 

 A party of several had bagged— I do not know how many, 

 but much in that proportion. I heard many stories of 

 large bags, and saw much to prove their truth, so much 

 that my memory does not carry them all, yet I think it 

 can be substantiated that two years ago two guns in one 

 day up the road, bagged nearly 200 birds. I am sure it 

 was over 175, and have a vague recollection it was 197. 

 One party of three guns came in with 88 birds, the result 

 of one day's shooting. My own experience at Mr. Pem- 

 berton's place would show the uselessness of further fig- 

 ures. It is easy to see what the shooting in this favored 

 country is, and how easy it would be to abuse it. It 

 simply must not be abused by any Northern man who 



goes in there, for that would be poor return for the treat- 

 ment he would be certain to receive. 



Well, it may readily be imagined that, as Mr. Irwin 

 and I got Dick into a corner — I by this time being quite 

 a settler in the country— and related all these things to 

 Dick, we had the poor boy about wild, for it must be 

 remembered that we had had our shoot and he hadn't 

 had his. Mr. Irwin, of course, had his business to look 

 after and a reputation as a citizen as well as a shooter to 

 maintain, but when he saw how nervous Dick was get- 

 ting he relented and said: 



"I did think I couldn't go out again for a while, but 

 seeing it's you, and you want to go so bad, we'll just take 

 one more trip. We'll go up the road to Morrillton and 

 shoot in the Arkansas Valley bottoms." And this, if 

 readers will pardon so personal a story, is what we did. 

 I cross my heart, there's plenty of blood in this story, so 

 it's worth reading. 



We took the evening train up the road after having 

 eaten a comfortable dinner, which, be sure, I was in 

 no mood to overlook. It was between 10 and 11 at night 

 when we tumbled into the little hotel at Morrillton, 

 perhaps fifty miles from the city. We couldn't get any- 

 thing to eat then, at which I rebelled. But I got even in 

 the morning. The waiters actually looked at me with 

 trepidation. 



We expected to meet at Morrillton Mr. Percy Stout, a 

 friend of Mr. Irwin and the best hunter of the neighbor- 

 hood. Unfortunately, Mr. Stout was out of town, being 

 across the river on a deer hunt. Mr. Irwin was, however, 

 well acquainted with the country we were to shoot over, 

 so in the early morning we acquired a good double rig 

 and a poor nigger driver, and sallied forth before the 

 mists were cleared away from the "mountain" at the 

 edge of town — a hill which will be a mountain some day, 

 or which anyhow is laid out all right for one. 



Over the mountain, we crossed, a creek, along whose 

 bottomlands the fog still hung white and heavy. Here 

 the dogs began to work, but we called them in, as our 

 drive was to be six to eight miles out in all. We had 

 along two brace, Mr. Irwin's pointers and those brought 

 from the North by Dick. One of the latter, the long one, 

 Nip, showed the speed and nearly the size of a lightning 

 palace train, and we allowed he wouldn't last till night if 

 ne kept that up. Ham, or Jack, as Mr. Irwin alternately 

 called his stub and twist little pepper and salt fellow, was 

 also out and away. This dog never would ride in any sort 

 of a vehicle, and seemed to be practically tireless. The 

 two canine ladies were more dignified, and were con- 

 tent to stay in the wagon and crawl all over the occu- 

 pants. 



The First Bevy. 



The sun was just beginning to roll up the fog into sheets 

 and pillow cases, when we pulled up on top of a high 

 ridge which skirted the bottomlands over which we were 

 to shoot. We cast down a little cottonfield, Mr. Irwin 

 working to the right and Dick taking his brace to the left. 

 It was a lovely scenting morning and the cover was cer- 

 tainly promising. 



"Well, here surely is a good cover for a bevy," said 

 Dick, as we followed a hedge row down into "a little 

 weedy hollow by the cottonfield. His prophecy was good, 

 for Nip made game, though being of limited experience 

 on birds he could not hit it off right at first. The other, 

 Gyp, was of wider field experience and very quickly knew 

 what to do. She made a rapid cast and was just at point 

 when Nip, with fire in his eye, came clattering through 

 the tall weeds looking for something he had lost. The 

 noise in the weeds put the birds up wild and they went 

 off at a. great pace. 



Meantime we heard Mr. Irwin's gun, and working on 

 over after our bevy found that his birds were marked 

 down on practically the same piece of ground as ours, a 

 heavy and tangled thicket near some tall young timber. 

 Here the dogs got plenty of work, and we began to pick 

 up a few birds. I very quickly saw that I was out with a 

 couple of hot-class ones that day. Mr. Irwin I had seen 

 shoot before in the field, but though I had seen Dick Mer- 

 rill often at the traps and knew he was a clinker there, I 

 had never shot in the field with him. He didn't do any- 

 thing but kill a double the first thing — which he did a good 

 many times later in the day — and then he and Mr. Irwin 

 began to get them all kinds of ways. We had lots of fun 

 in this little corner. I suppose I ought to remember just 

 how many birds we took out of our pockets when we 

 reached the wagon, but I don't. It was quite a handsome 

 little bunch of them, though. 



Delectable Country. 



And now before us, further than we could see in the 

 early morning, there stretched as pretty a bit of country 

 as every made scene for the sport of shooters. Let us say 

 two miles wide and four or five long, and flat as a floor, 

 lay the bottom land, covered with corn, cotton, grass, 

 weeds and burrs — as good a country for quail as ever lay 

 out of doors, no matter what the climate. This, our guide 

 informed us, was a strip of country on which he had made 

 some of his heaviest bags in earlier seasons. 



We spread out and started in at the upper end of the 

 flat, and before we were fairly started in Dick's dogs had 

 a bevy nailed, and he got a double. Mr. Irwin, getting a 

 shot at one of the bevy as it came in over him, killed it 

 very handsomely. And the ball was on. 



From that time on I need not describe the fun. In fact, 

 I can't. Again there was too much of it, too many birds, 

 too much good shooting, to work into the description of a 

 shooting day. We all had good guns — cylinder right 

 barrels and open lefts — for the sport, our loads were per- 

 fect, the dogs were lovely, the day was pleasant and the 

 birds were there. No ingredient therefore, was missing. 



During the day we put up twenty-odd bevies, and had 

 we worked on down more rapidly to the further end of 

 the plot, where we found so many birds in the evening, 

 we should have seen yet more, for we learned that Percy 

 Stout had been among the bevies when we first started in, 

 which meant a perceptible thinning down, the same Percy 

 being a bad man with a shotgun. As it was, we did most 

 of our work early and most of our shooting late. I don't 

 know how many birds we killed in all, but I know I kept 

 track up to 75 and think we had somewhere between that 

 and 100, probably 89 or 77, or something like that. Those 

 two men surely did make me walk and shoot. 



Somebody or other, or may be more than that, lately 

 found fault with me for telling how to skin quail. Said 

 it was no good way to fix quail, because quail ought to be 

 picked. Of course they ought, of course. If a fellow 

 hasn't got anything but time, he can sit around and pick 



quail, and it isn't against the law to do that, so far as T 

 know. I have eaten picked quail in a country where 

 there weren't any quail. Likewise, I have eaten skinned 

 quail, in a country where there were quail. It's this way: 

 Down East, they count quail and pick them. Down South, 

 they don't count 'em and don't pick 'em. Bless my heart, 

 if I had to pick all the quail I could kill in Arkansas in a 

 day, I never would go shooting. Quail are like oysters; 

 you can skin and eat 30 or 40 of them, without wasting 

 any time, and not feel any the worse for it. At least, that 

 is the way I felt along toward evening. Dick felt the 

 same way. In fact, our hotel, in revenge for the break- 

 fast I had eaten, had composed for us three adult men a 

 lunch consisting of four biscuit, two small parti-colored 

 apples and a piece of sponge cake. But here let us draw 

 a veil. 



Plenty of Game. 



During the day we startled from their feeding grounds 

 in the corn a great gang of Canada geese, and saw them 

 come out again from the river later in the day. We 

 heard a great many geese honking out on the bars of the 

 river, and it seemed that if one were prepared for it and 

 cared to take the trouble, he could have gotten a goose 

 without much trouble, as the flyway was easily located. 



Dick's dogs went fairly wild in their hunting for a while, 

 for they had never seen so many birds in their lives, but 

 after a time they steadied down and showed the making of 

 a very good pair of bird dogs. The short, fat one stood the 

 day better than the long, lean one. The latter lost a lot 

 of his exuberance along in the evening, for the weather 

 was quite warm, and he was just recovering from the 

 grip. Nancy and Jack, Mr. Irwin's brace, behaved like a 

 perfect lady and gentleman. Poor Jack, since then I 

 learn that he has gone over the range, a sudden malady 

 having cut short his merry and sturdy young life, as I 

 have elsewhere stated. 



And so, we saw quail, quail, quail, all day long, until 

 their scent no longer excited the green dogs, and until 

 their whirring flight no longer disturbed our nerves. One 

 bevy would go down into the cover, and we would put up 

 another bevy while we were looking for it. Once, in the 

 evening, Dick and I put up three bevies at the same time, 

 and Mr. Irwin was at that moment shooting in another 

 not 150yds. to our right. Out of that rise, singularly 

 enough, Dick knocked down three birds and. never got 

 one of them. He laid down his hat to help mark, and 

 lost his hat for quite a while. The dogs got rattled and 

 went to pointing singles, and Dick had to give up his 

 birds. We left part of these scattered birds on a bit of 

 level ragweed cover when the wagon came up, for we 

 already had a bag big enough for anybody, and both dogs 

 and men were tired and hungry. 



Percy Stout Had Results. 



In the North you go hunting, and you get plenty of air 

 and sunshine and walking and poetry, but you don't get 

 anything else. You have to go home to your wife — if 

 you have any — and explain all about it, and tell how it 

 happened, and what a good time you had. In short, you 

 have to bring back explanations and not results. Now, 

 it's results that count in this sinful world. The fellow 

 who has results doesn't have to make many explanations. 

 In the South you bring back results and not explanations 

 when you come from your hunt. As see below- 



On our way in we overtook a horseman who was plod- 

 ding along on muleback, if a horseman can be doing that 

 — anyhow he was. Him Mr. Irwin recognized to be Mr. 

 Percy Stout, the missing friend who was out hunting. 

 After salutations and introductions, the first question was: 

 "What luck?" 



"Oh, we've got three deer coming along in the wagon 

 behind," said Mr. Stout carelessly. "We ought to have 

 had more, but we had a pleasant hunt. We chased a big 

 buck right across your quail ground here once to-day. Of 

 course we got a lot of squirrels and things. We've been 

 camped out on the bluff over there, across the river, three 

 or four days, and we had a lot of good runs with the dogs, 

 though some of our men didn't understand their business 

 very well. There's a good deal of sign over in there, and 

 plenty of deer, too." It was evident then that Mr. Stout 

 had more results than the single fox squirrel we saw 

 dangling at his saddle. 



At this stage of the game Dick wanted to stop the 

 wagon and get right out and go deer hunting. Mr. Stout 

 smiled gravely and assured him that it was "no trouble to 

 get a deer." Later on, Mr. Stout called at our hotel in 

 the village, that evening, and we had a long talk with 

 him over the game question. He reported quail and squir- 

 rels unending and a few turkeys. Traveling much all 

 over the section he knows the game supply as thoroughly 

 as any man of the State, perhaps. He told us that in the 

 Nations one could still get quail, chickens, deer and tur- 

 key on the same hunt, and further stated that he thought 

 he could get a deer or so by going about forty miles from 

 where we were. 



"If you gentlemen could only stay here a little longer," 

 said he, "we'd get a wagon and go up country thirty or 

 forty miles on a camp hunt into a wilder part of the State. 

 We would surely show you bear, deer and turkey, and 

 would jolt you up a bit on some of the rough roads. Or, 

 if you can't stay now, and can get down in here next fall, 

 we'll go then. You'll be down next fall, won't you?" 



To this question I could only shake my head in doubt. 

 Dick, however, who has fewer cares to restrain him than 

 most folks, perhaps, practically concluded on a trip for 

 next fall with Mr. Stout after deer, turkey and bear. 

 Some or all of these they will get if they go, for there is 

 no better posted hunter of that section than Mr. Stout, and 

 as we have seen, he brings in results and not explana- 

 tions. 



To be Continued. 



We sat late that night talking, and after parting with 

 our friend for the night, we bribed the singularly and 

 uniquely worthless nigger who officiated as porter to give 

 us an early call for the 4 A. M. train in to Little Rock. 

 He didn't do it. If he had, it might have been different 

 with the creases in Dick's trousers. 



But I presume it will add interest to the next section of 

 this story if I postponed till then the account of what hap- 

 pened to Dick's trousers and the creases thereof. This I 

 promise to be of thrilling interest. You know, it was all 

 dark in the early morning, and the train had whistled, 

 and we were all hurrying as fast as we could — But there , 

 this is to be continued, and there's plenty of time about it. 



E. Hough, 



900 SEOTarry Building, Chicago. 



